


you are a whore, but for what it’s worth, i’m sorry

by brotherfuckersanonymous



Series: my mating dance is mostly seizures [modern au] [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dubious Consent, M/M, Sibling Incest, Twincest, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-04-30 14:38:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14499171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brotherfuckersanonymous/pseuds/brotherfuckersanonymous
Summary: Jeremiah wasn’t expecting Jerome home so early.





	you are a whore, but for what it’s worth, i’m sorry

**Author's Note:**

> this is a transparent excuse to write my biggest weaknesses known to man: gritty modern urban settings and brothers fucking each other and independently being disgusting 
> 
> the title of this as well as the collection is from the guide to troubled birds. because i have no rules

There was something so cathartic about being able to take a shower longer than any human being needed to. The bathroom was filled with steam and Jeremiah was probably going to be glowing neon pink by the time he stepped out of the tub. He shut his eyes and tipped his head up towards the spray. 

Jerome was out, so Jeremiah didn’t have to psycho-proof everything before he was able to take a goddamn shower. He didn’t have to lock the door with two different locks, he didn’t have to worry about the destruction of his valuables, he didn’t have to prepare himself for anything completely disgusting that could’ve been dumped on his head. Other than being unstable and criminally insane, Jerome was _annoying_. As every other sibling on the planet was meant to be. 

Sibling. 

Jeremiah thought about it while he ran his fingers through his hair. Jerome was not a normal sibling. He didn’t know how to be one. He was completely incapable of being normal around any of their family members anyway. He started fights with their mother and called her a bitch and a whore and a slut to her face. He berated their aunts and uncles and cousins. 

Jerome had always been like that, disgusting and rude and unpleasant, but now he was wittier and smarter and a lot more uncomfortably sexual. 

Very, very, very uncomfortably sexual. 

Jeremiah wanted to be normal so badly. He acted the part: he displayed an acceptable personality, he dressed in sweaters and button-downs, he held himself properly, he talked about things like the weather and the fear that it was going to hurt when he died. He liked science. He liked literature. He liked math. He liked engineering. His outward persona couldn’t be perfected any further. 

But Jeremiah’s body was a temple with a shaky foundation and it was easily knocked down. By himself, even. Well, really, just himself. 

Jeremiah couldn’t get off without looking in a mirror — literally and figuratively. 

Jeremiah rested his forearm against the wall of the shower and dropped his forehead to the crook of his elbow, breathing shakily. He wanted a girlfriend. He wanted a girlfriend who loved him and he wouldn’t feel the urge to kill her. He wanted to be an only child, able to live on his own and be successful, manage his mental health, dress clean and neat the way his mother taught him. 

He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life masturbating in the shower over his brother. He went to fucking Yale. 

Jeremiah exhaled and tried to empty his mind, curling his fingers around his cock. 

The shower curtain flew back with a screech of metal from the hooks above. "Why didn't you text me back?"

Jeremiah let out a shuddering, high-pitched gasp and grabbed at the curtain, yanking it back to at least cover his lower half. Jerome tilted his head to the side and smirked. Jeremiah's eyes narrowed as he clutched at the floral plastic, wrapping it around himself like a makeshift toga. (He'd always wished he'd had Roman ancestors.) 

"I was busy not paying attention to you," Jeremiah said, making an attempt at intimidation even though his skin was scarlet red and he'd really just been caught with his hand around his dick. "I figured you were having too much fun being disgusting with your jailbait boyfriend."

Jerome rolled his eyes. "Jailbait, mature for his age, tomato, tomahto. You're _jealous_ , little bro. You still didn't text me back." He took a step forward, his tongue poking out from between his teeth. It might have looked kind of cute if he wasn't Jeremiah's personal hell. "Whatcha thinkin' about? Caught you at a bad time?" he asked with a pouting frown. 

"What do you want?" Jeremiah said between his teeth. "I'm going to get out of here and get dressed and go grocery shopping and come back home and make dinner and then I am going to bed. Just let me know now what you want from me before you ruin the rest of my day for good."

Jerome giggled. "Wooowww, Jesus, touchy today, huh?" He took Jeremiah's face in his hand, nails digging into his skin. Jeremiah's mouth tightened. "If you'd told me you were gonna be in the shower, I coulda' gotten in with you before I left."

"Yeah. Yeah, I wanted that, thank you. I wanted you to — to turn on the hot water and let my skin peel off after you — molested me. That's what I wanted." 

"Look. Bro. I'm a lot of things — I mean, a _lot of things_ , mostly, uh, illegal or _pretty morally grey_ , but a rapist I ain't. You know I ain't." Jerome leaned in and kissed Jeremiah on the mouth, gentle and sweet, which he did a lot just to make Jeremiah let his guard down, but Jeremiah hadn't fallen for that since he was thirteen. 

Regardless, though. Well. It felt nice. It made Jeremiah's head a little soupy, kind of like slurry, because everyone wanted to get their mouth kissed. Jeremiah still didn't want to get sucked into this and he could still feel the fingernails cutting into his chin. He jerked away, smacking at Jeremiah's hand with a limp wrist that he was still rather ashamed of. 

"Leave me alone." Jeremiah shut the water off and untangled himself from the shower curtain, shoving Jerome aside. He was going to pay for that, but he didn't care. He grabbed the towel he set out earlier off the bathroom sink and hastily tied it around his waist. "I'm not the mood for this. I want a perfectly boring, normal, ordinary rest of my day." He opened the regretfully-unlocked door and shivered from the unwelcome cold air, barely taking a step before a hand around his neck dragged him back, snapping his air supply off for a moment. 

"No, no no no no no, don't do that," Jerome muttered, fingernails in Jeremiah's throat this time with his other hand gripping his waist, arm around his midsection. Jeremiah squeezed his eyes shut and let a harsh breath escape through his teeth. "Don't. I came back home for a reason. You didn't answer my fucking text, Jer." 

"What was the goddamn text that was so _incredibly important_ that you decided to come home and terrorize me for really no reason at all?" Jeremiah hissed, more irritated and frustrated than anything. 

"Dramatic little shithead," Jeremiah heard before he felt teeth on the juncture of his shoulder. It sent a familiar chill down to the bottom of his backbone. "Brucey won't put out."

Jeremiah swallowed and tried not to lose his head. "You came back here. . . because you were angry that you couldn't fuck a high-schooler? That's really — real mature of you, Jerome." 

"Jeaaalouuusss," Jerome sang, sounding like rust. He bit into Jeremiah's skin, hard and fast, drawing out a pained whine and a twitch from Jeremiah. Jerome ran his tongue over the mark and sighed, nuzzling the back of Jeremiah's neck. "Yeah, y'know, I figured it'd be easier to get ya where I want ya. Got all this pent-up rage and lust and who knows what else. This is, this is the non-violent tactic for releasing my aggression. Doesn't your _therapist_ tell you all that candy-coated bullshit?"

"I-it's mostly confidential, but I can tell you she's never encouraged me to fondle my brother so I won't go out and kill someone," Jeremiah said, weak and strained. "You should see her sometime. The thing you need the most is professional help before I have to institutionalize you."

Jerome laughed. "Not if I institutionalize you first. Bet I can tell you what Dr. Thompkins doesn't know. Bet she doesn't know how much you like this. Bet she doesn't know what a know-it-all, geeky little god-complex cocksucker you are." He pressed hard kisses against the back of Jeremiah's neck and shoulder, lips falling over tiny freckles and scars from burns and bites and scratches and years of abuse that Jeremiah had never tried hard enough to get away from. "Kinda sad that she's the only girl who's ever looked at you twice."

"You're one to talk," Jeremiah said hotly, even though it was difficult to maintain even a scrape of dignity in this position. "You scare women into looking at you. If I had a dollar for every female person you tried to choke out with a knife, I wouldn't have to live here." 

"Mmmm, yeah, maybe you've got a point there, but at least I've got style, okay? Style, flair, class, general likability, charisma, everything you _don't_. I don't live in my country-club-wannabe sweaters. You're not still in college and you can stop acting like you're special and civilized and soaked through with all the fucking padding and assblasting you get from honors societies. It's like you're avoiding fashion on purpose, baby boy." Jerome kneed Jeremiah in the back of his thigh and grabbed him by his hair, shoving him far too close for comfort against the biting cold of the bathroom tile wall. All Jeremiah could really think, other than how unpleasant this was, was how much of an unfair dickhead Jeremiah was being just because he was mad that he couldn't sleep with Bruce Wayne. He didn't need to take it out on Jeremiah, but he was going to anyway. 

"The bedroom is right there," Jeremiah managed, even though it hurt his mouth to speak at this angle. "This is making it as hard on you as it is on me."

"Jesus Christ, I dunno why I haven't sewn your mouth shut while you were sleeping, 'cause you're never gonna shut up if I don't! Fuck's sake." Jerome twisted his fingers in Jeremiah's hair and tugged his head back, shoving his free fingers inside Jeremiah's mouth. Jeremiah made a garbled, pathetic noise of protest, because he didn't want this, he at least just wanted to use lube for once in his entire life. But Jerome pushed his fingers towards the back of Jeremiah's mouth and Jeremiah almost retched, so that left him with very little of a choice. 

"Good boy," Jerome murmured as Jeremiah sucked on his fingers. "You're so good for me, aren't you? You're a good boy." Jeremiah's heart gave a guilty jolt, his cock twitching. His towel was slipping down. 

Jerome pulled his fingers back out and kissed them as a strange blessing before he dropped Jeremiah's towel to the floor. "Good boys spread their legs," he said, nipping Jeremiah's ear. 

Jeremiah turned a violent shade of pink and rolled his eyes, doing as he was essentially told. "You don't have to do that, either."

"If you hate gettin' molested so much, I might as well throw you a bone, right? Or at least more than one." Jerome snickered at what barely qualified as a joke before he slipped his finger inside Jeremiah. "No one can say I don't love you enough."

Jeremiah winced and swallowed with difficulty, making an effort to try and relax himself. This was going to hurt. If only Jerome weren't focused on making it hurt, Jeremiah could've liked it more. 

(He did like it. He loved it. He craved it. He was sick and perverted and he wanted to use and be used. He only admitted that when he didn't have a choice. He was a coward and a liar.)

"Mmm, Bruce would love you. He'd really, really love you," Jerome remarked, doing that unsettling thing where he'd try to make general conversation when he was participating in sodomy. It was like a dentist putting you through the third degree while he picked at your teeth, expecting you to respond to every invasive question. It felt like an uneasier form of psychoanalytic doctoring. Jeremiah had a fear of dentists and he had ever since he was five and Jerome tried to play dentist with him. "He's into all that, that, that engineering jargon, that kinda thing that gets your faux-intellectual rocks off. Nerd stuff. You two would hit it off like crazy. You need a best friend, don't'cha?" He pushed a second finger inside Jeremiah and tweaked them up, making Jeremiah gasp and arch his back, the pain and the pleasure meeting in the middle. "I should introduce you sometime. Maybe he'd put out for you." 

"I'm not having sex with him for your pleasure, before you ask," Jeremiah snapped, punctuating it with a groan as he grabbed at the edge of the bathroom sink. That knocked the conviction aside. "I'm — I'm not — ngh," he said, cutting himself off with a whimper as Jerome dropped his hand from Jeremiah's hair and stroked it along his cock instead. 

"You're real pervy, you know that?" Jerome said, sounding cheery and gleeful. "Never said I wanted you to _bang_ him. You're such a creep, Miah, creeping on underage boys like that. Maybe the politicians were right about the goshdarn homosexuals after all," he said with a disappointed sigh, striking the soft spot inside Jeremiah and making his hips snap back against Jerome. 

"I'm n-not a homosexual." Jeremiah's knees trembled and his grip on the sink tightened, teeth gritting. "You traumatized me into this."

Jerome started snickering again, sounding genuinely in hysterics. "Oh, oh yeah, blame it on me, blame it on me that you love cock so much, blame it on me that you don't have a _girlfriend_." He finished his sentence with a tone you'd expect to come out of a taunting, jealous mouth covered in drugstore lipstick, from a young girl who thought she was better than someone else's partner. "All you ever do is blame everyone else for every thought you've ever had that you just don't like all that much. And I just don't think I deserve that." He pulled his fingers back out and Jerome groaned internally: that wasn't long enough at all and this was really, really going to hurt. Jeremiah really only ever got fingerfucked in a performative way. That was just depressing no matter who was doing it to him. 

Jerome spit on the palm of his hand after unzipping his pants. Jeremiah didn't see it; he just heard the scrape and the slick sound and felt the turn of his stomach. He went back to the concept of relaxation. "I hate you," Jeremiah mumbled, as if that was going to help anything. 

"Say it again, pretty boy." Jerome held the front of Jeremiah's thigh in a spider grip, dragging his tongue along the back of Jeremiah's neck and pressing the head of his cock against Jeremiah's ass. Jeremiah bit his lip and felt his insides twist a little tighter. "Say it again."

Jeremiah closed his mouth firmly, the cloudy white of the bathroom tile swimming out of focus in front of his eyes as he held its gaze. He was glad his glasses were in the linen closet so Jerome wouldn't do something unnecessary like stomp on them or throw them out the window. 

Jerome clicked his tongue and said something under his breath like "your funeral" before shoving his hips forward against Jeremiah's ass. Jeremiah gagged on his own spit, reaching blindly behind him to grab at something, anything that would let him keep his balance, the pain intense enough for him to feel like something was going to tear. It wasn't so much that Jerome was exceptionally thick, he _just hadn't let Jeremiah get loose enough first and Jeremiah wanted to kill him_. 

"I really do hate you," Jeremiah gasped, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. "I do, I do, I hate you so much. I wish you'd kill yourself s-so I wouldn't have to do it." 

"Fuck, I love it when you talk dirty," Jerome growled, barely giving Jeremiah a second to recover, but, at the very least, he was given a second. Jerome rolled his hips back against Jeremiah and Jeremiah's mouth fell open, panting. It was only unbearable for a little while. 

This was generally the point that Jeremiah could actually empty his mind. It was nothing but Jerome and wanting more and more until he broke in two and submitting to everything he was given. It was sick that this was the only true love he was given, in the form of unhealthy sex. It was far past the old song-and-dance of "he's your brother, what the hell is wrong with you", because that train had left the station almost a decade or so ago. Jeremiah didn't talk about this with Dr. Thompkins. He was sad and broken and he'd babble and blubber about same-old, same-old: _"Sometimes I have dreams about killing people." "I want to kill myself sometimes." "I want to hurt other people. I feel bad about it." "I don't think God really exists."_ It was textbook, nothing a sleepy cocktail of Luvox and Depakote wouldn't care for. He didn't want her to think there was something even worse wrong with him. There wasn't a drug that could make him stop lusting over Jerome. 

Things were starting to even out. Jeremiah's heated breathing matched the rhythm Jerome had built up and he clutched loyally at Jerome's thigh, his eyelashes fluttering. It still _hurt_ , though, fuck, but it was as good as it was going to get. And it was enough. Jeremiah was the opposite of spoiled. 

When he was drunk and especially miserable, wallowing, Jeremiah had daydreams of Jerome fucking him like it was true love. He thought about a soft bed and dim lights and kissing, something that would really make you want to puke. But they weren’t made for that. They were teeth and scratches and nails. They were hardwired for pain, the Valeska twins, because they were supposed to inflict so much of it on each other and everyone else. 

It seemed like it was over as soon as it began, even though Jeremiah’s head had been flickering in and out like faulty wiring. Jerome had clearly just needed to diffuse personal tension and he wanted Jeremiah as a sock puppet. Sex puppet. (Like a British rock band, probably.) The motions stuttered and Jeremiah whimpered, small and shivering, as Jerome muttered obscenities through his teeth and scratched his fingernails over Jeremiah’s skin, leaving raised lines, circumstantial evidence.

Jeremiah’s knees almost gave out when Jerome pulled back. He was still hard and didn’t get nearly what he could have. His forehead fell to the tile with a thud and he winced when he felt something drip down his thigh. “You — you’re a selfish lover,” he croaked out. “Hope you knew that.” 

“What can I say.” Jerome’s voice was so much hotter when it was torn and ragged. He nosed the back of Jeremiah’s shoulder tenderly and wrapped a hand around his brother’s cock — Jeremiah made a startled little noise from the surprise alone. “Sometimes I just wanna stop in and grab some milk and eggs instead of. . . instead of shopping around.”

“That’s the worst analogy,” Jeremiah moaned, going almost entirely lax against Jerome. This was nice. This was strangely uncharacteristic. “You’re — fuck — you’re smarter than this.”

”Sorry, brain’s in a stick-up right now. An actual stick-up. You’re gonna need a shower again, bro.” Jerome gave another stupid snicker and twisted his fingers with his upstroke, making Jeremiah cry out from the sensitivity. 

Jeremiah came in maybe thirty seconds. He felt Jerome kissing his neck and his shoulders through it; on top of the kindness, it was sort of surreal. He tried to catch his breath, listening to his heartbeat that seemed to come from just inside his ears. 

Jerome took his hand back and licked mess off his fingers. “Told ya I really love you.”

”I know you did,” Jeremiah mumbled. Raw and already feeling the ache inside him that would last the next few days, he leaned down to pick his towel back up, always-nervous hands twisting the fabric. “I know.”

Jerome leaned in and gave Jeremiah one last kiss, smacking and obnoxious, full on the mouth. Jeremiah didn’t have the energy to pull away this time, sighing softly. 

“Don’t go out again,” Jeremiah said, not wanting to say it at all. “Just — don’t — don't go back to see him.”

Jerome smiled and nuzzled Jeremiah’s nose. That stupid little fake-cute, _I wuv you, Miah_ thing. 

“You know I came back here for a reason.” 


End file.
